Authors: Shey Stahl
Love,
family, sex, trust, all of it can heal a heart. I would know.
When I’m
old, I want to remember certain parts of my life and hold onto them forever.
I want to
remember holding my children, vowing forever to my best friend, painting my
nails with my mom, watering a dirt track with my dad, Jimi with his smart ass
remarks and Nancy with her compassion. I want to remember everyone in my family
for what they brought to me.
Love.
Watching
Jameson prior to Charlie’s memorial race we had every year, it was easy to see
now that he longed for the moment that he could be at peace with his past,
dreamed of it even, but it would never come without a fight. Finally,
surrounded by everything that made Jameson Riley who he was, he was finally
living where the clay met rubber.
From the
day we met, to now, we’d come full circle, back to where the clay met rubber
and desire defined greatness. Jameson went back to where he always felt
comfortable, a dirt track. There was no pressing media here and nothing forcing
him to race but his own desire. Sure we had challenges but they were different.
Sitting on
his lap, gently, his lips touched mine, brushing softly before pulling away.
“My wife,” he said softly as he drew me close. My senses engulfed with him, the
track, and our love.
“I love
you, honey.” He murmured holding me tighter.
Jameson
took pride and poured everything he had into everything he did. Now wasn’t any
different.
I honestly
don’t think anyone can capture the vulnerability, magic, sensitivity, charm and
pure greatness of this man I’ve loved all these years. He influenced and
contributed to the racing world in ways no one ever had or ever will. People
used to come from miles around just to see him race. Those were the people that
understood. The people that stood in line for hours just to meet him prior to a
race or stayed until the wee hours of the morning watching him celebrate after
a victory. Those were the people that captured the magic that was Jameson
Riley. It was a magic that consumed me in every way.
He taught
me the love and the passion he held for a sport that changed our lives and
intertwined them to the point that there was no us without it.
In turn, I
gave him everything I had to give. I gave him my heart, my body, my soul and
three wonderful kids.
The
greatest man I had ever known.
Thinking
back on my life, the fairytales of my childhood made perfect sense to me, but
that wasn’t what I ended up with. I had
my
version of the fairytale. The
glass slipper fit me. The dirty heathen turned into my prince and my soul was
awakened with his kiss. And once upon at a dirt track, we found our happy right
now.
Our lives were
so twisted and turned that we couldn’t find our way back to where it all began
and I was okay with that. The reality, the dream, was better than any
fairytale.
I’ll
always remember the feeling I got when I knew I loved Jameson. I’ve held it
with me like a secret gift all these years. It’s a fire in me that burns to
this day. Some fires never go out.
Some
lights burn forever.
My love
for him burned forever.
Jameson
looked at me and breathed, the night air seized around us but I only saw him as
he waited for my gaze to meet his. “I’ll tell you something, honey,” His finger
traced my lips, “Something that a race could never offer me, something that’s
worth all the aches and tears in the world. Something I believe in.”
“What’s
that?”
His eyes
shined as he spoke about a passion that held us as one.
“A
man and woman in love.”
Where the
clay met rubber and desire defined greatness, a love was formed in a world of
adrenaline and desire. Whether that love
be
for a
sport that consumed your life or a man and woman in love, a taste would never
be enough. Over tragedy and triumph, you fight, you don’t give in and you see
within the shadows of the blaring spotlight why you did so.
I
believed, as Jimi once said, believe in love and hold onto it with everything
you have as it’s the only real legend of our time.
The End
Freedom is never dear at any
price. It is the breath of life. What would a man not pay for living?
Gandhi
Behind the Wheel Outtakes
Continuous Stall Torque
Tate Harris
Continuous Stall
Torque – Maximum amount of torque a motor can provide at zero speed without
exceeding its thermal capacity.
Only a few people
have ever personally witnessed the raw talent behind Jameson Riley. He’s known
by millions but to know him from the beginning was different. I think those
were the only ones that understood everything he put into racing.
There Jameson was
being awarded his fifteenth NASCAR Cup series title as I watched from the
crowd. He turned and looked at me before going on stage. Smiling, he gave me a
head nod that was both, I appreciate you and yeah, that’s right, I’m one up on
you buddy. Even though he was ten years younger than me, we had spent our
entire careers battling it out together.
I still remember the
night I met him as though it was just yesterday, that’s the type of impact this
kid had on me.
It was the week of
the Chili Bowl Midget Nationals in 1999 when I met him.
At first glance,
you’d think he’s just some cocky kid with daddy’s money. Boy would you be
wrong. For one, he refused to take daddy’s money and though he was in fact
cocky, he had every right to be. He worked hard for everything he had won by
1999.
His head was bent
forward, his arms folded over his chest. And if you didn’t know any better,
you’d think at that point, he was just another racer. I knew at one glance that
night he wasn’t just another racer.
Jimi was standing
next to him, Jameson nodding to everything he said. Once again, some would
think here’s a kid that fed from the bill daddy footed. But I knew.
He heard
every
word Jimi
ever
said to him.
Jameson sat there
looking over the track before sitting on the edge of the wall in turn two, his
feet kicked out in front of him. His eyes scanned over the track watching as
they prepared the surface for the night’s heat races. Although he was just
watching, his eyes never moved as he intently focused on the night ahead of
him.
I knew very little
about Jameson Riley other than he had surpassing success in the USAC division
the last couple years and even won the USAC Triple Crown.
Having a father
like Jimi Riley, I assumed he could race but when I saw him go from a twelfth
starting spot in his heat to the lead in two laps, I knew he had talent.
The thing with
drivers who have raw talent was the way that talent is displayed. Some athletes
have it and they know it. They don’t think they need to practice because in
their mind, they’re too good for that. After all, they’re naturals, right?
Well here’s the
difference
between them and a guy like Jameson. He spent every day,
every minute he could inside a car honing that raw god given talent. He knew he
was good and he damn sure wasn’t letting it go to waste. That’s what set him
apart from the others.
“He’s good, huh?”
Bobby said watching the last few laps where Jameson pulled out to a six car
lead.
“I don’t think good
does him justice.”
“You wouldn’t
believe the stats from the year he won the Triple Crown.” You couldn’t miss the
sour edge to his voice. Bobby was the only other driver to win the Triple
Crown. “You think he’d drive stock cars?”
I laughed leaning
against the edge of the bleachers.
“Let’s hope not.” I
teased.
In the end, that’s
where he made a name for himself outside of the shadows of Jimi Riley.
Looking back on it
now, I don’t regret ever helping him out and introducing him to Marcus because
of days like today. I thought of him as a brother and seeing this kid win
another title only proved I was right in helping him. That raw talent wasn’t
wasted and that was more gratifying than seeing my own dreams come true, for me
anyways.
There were times
when he’d lose focus, but we all did. But it was individuals like Jameson who
got right back on the gas and made the ride worth wild. That right there was
worth it.
Independent Suspension
Casten Riley
Independent
Suspension – A term used to describe any type of suspension that allows each of
the two wheels of a given axle to move up and down independently of each other.
Someone
once asked me if I liked my family.
My first
thought was, what kind of question is that, who doesn’t like their family?
And then
my next sobering thought, oh yeah, not everyone has a childhood like mine.
I loved
everything about it. Where else would one find a group of highly unstable natural
athletes, obsessive disorders, anger issues and borderline alcoholics?
The Riley family.
Nothing
about any of us was normal. For a person like me, it was heaven. Most of the
early years I remember a lot of love, smiles and good times at the race tracks.
We traveled a lot with my parents; I remember that much and I loved it. When we
were at home, it was the same thing. They made it all enjoyable while still
keeping touch with that we were kids and needed some normal routines. Most of
this involved a family dinner the night before my dad’s races or a trip to the
local zoo or aquarium if one was around. Even with a dad that was on the road
10-months out of the year, we still saw him more than most would think. Me
however, I was a mama’s boy. She couldn’t, and still can’t, do anything wrong
in my eyes because who else would protect me when I filled my brothers bed with
itching powder or glued my sisters phone to her ear?
My dad
sure as shit wouldn’t, he just said, “You pissed in your bed, you lay in it,”
whatever the hell that meant.
I usually
found a way out of it by either crying or batting my eyelashes at my mom. They
were long, thick and provided just enough shadow to a pair of sparkly green
eyes. I was definitely blessed when it came to being adorable and I knew it. It
worked well for when my plans for attacking didn’t roll well.
Even with
all that, as I got older, the more entertainment being the baby of the family
provided me.
I remember
the first time I used this to my advantage and knew without a doubt, my mom was
completely clueless when it came to me and my abilities to persuade those
around me.
It was
sometime after my sixth birthday. I was racing quarter midgets at Terra Haute
with Axel and his friend Shane. That wasn’t the important part. The important
part was I was six, and I was bored out of my six-year-old mind waiting for my
heat race.
This is
where Ryder Christensen came in.
Now it
always started with Tommy Davis and Ryder, two of my dad’s close friends who
spent the majority of their time corrupting me.
So Ryder
said, “Casten if you get me a beer, I will
...
”
and every time it was a different outcome for me. He’d ramble off some request,
usually beer runs and I’d come up with a demand—most of the time I wanted candy.
For some reason unbeknownst to me, my parents didn’t like me to have candy.
Now I had
the optimal deal there with Ryder and Tommy and developed some excellent ways
to sneak beer away from the other teams. Sure, they had their own beer and own
money to buy the beer but what fun was that?
Anyway, my
mom never caught onto this, even though she was usually there and just smiled
at me. Sometimes I thought maybe she knew and just wasn’t saying anything
because it was also entertaining to her watching a six-year old walk around
with his jacket full of
Coors Light
.
Eventually
though, I got bored and stealing beer was above my six-year-old world and I was
sure there was a bigger payout for things like, I don’t know, stealing cars?
I blamed
my twin cousins Charlie and Noah for that one.
I stole a
car or two, drove them around the parking lot and then would park them in
different parking spots while Cole, Noah, Charlie and me watched those poor
unsuspecting folks look for their cars after the race.
We did
this a few times and sooner or later actually
stole
a
few and parked them down the street. We decided when the cops showed up to
report the missing car that it was tad risky for a six-year old (we being me
and myself). So
we
went back to stealing beer.